Her eyes were the color of the sky on a rainy, cloudy day.
A grey, almost-white sky portraying some sort of coming storm.
Her pale skin seemed to be a perfect concept of beauty, scars and bruises all tied up with a grey-blue satiny bow.
And she was loved.
Loved, loved so deeply that no one ever saw a simple exchange. For fear that a few simple words might burden this grey-blue girl with the stormy eyes.
Simple glances and corners of smiles were the only form that this hopeless love seemed to be communicated.
And one day it ceased to be communicated at all.
One fell in love, fatally. And the almost-white, stormy blue girl was never there to catch her.
-Sunday 7-31-16
an excerpt from a book i'll never write
